


Bad Things Happen Bingo: Doesn't Realize They've Been Injured

by taylor_tut



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Concussions, Exhaustion, Gen, Head Injury, Headaches & Migraines, Injury, Klaus Hargreeves Whump, Sick Character, Sick Klaus Hargreeves, Sickfic, Whump, doesn't realize they've been injured
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-20 15:10:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18527587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylor_tut/pseuds/taylor_tut
Summary: A request from my tumblr. Klaus hit his head hard enough to DIE in the nightclub, so I feel that they could have had a little fanservice sibling bonding the morning after, don't y'all? This is that.





	Bad Things Happen Bingo: Doesn't Realize They've Been Injured

Five stumbled into the kitchen to a scene that reminded him of when they were children and played Opposite Day: a sober Klaus making coffee for his hungover, strung-out brother Luther. He’d have made a smart remark if he’d deemed it worth the energy, but instead he decided to swipe the cup of coffee away from Luther as it was set in front of him and take a long sip from it. 

“Who do I have to kill to get a decent cup of coffee around here?” Five grumbled, a remark that Klaus seemed to either ignore or not notice as he poured another cup to slide to Luther. 

“Can we get started, please?” Luther muttered. If it hadn’t been for the end of the world happening in a few days, Five would have taken more pleasure in exploiting his brother’s first hangover, particularly because he would have placed money on the theory that there wasn’t enough alcohol in the world to get someone like Luther even a little tipsy, not to mention drunk enough to hook up with some bar-furry. 

“Anyone seen any of the others?” Klaus asked, his eyes darting wildly around the room. “Diego? Allison? No? Alright, then, this is the closest thing to a quorum,” he paused to bang a spatula on the table, something that Five noticed seemed to make Klaus wince just as much as Luther, “as we’re gonna get.” 

Five sat forward as he waited for Klaus to reveal why he’d called them downstairs. It wasn’t unlike him to be more than a touch dramatic in his presentations, but he got the feeling that this was big news. Klaus seemed to be lethargic, in pain, even, and that alone told him that he wouldn’t be drawing this out if he didn’t have to be. He looked like he wanted nothing more than to be in his bed, so if he’d forced himself out here to talk, it was probably important. 

“There’s no easy way to say this,” Klaus began, “but I kind of conjured Dad last night.”

Five and Luther took a moment to look at one another and Klaus took that moment to sit down heavily in a chair, as if he were losing steam after only perhaps half an hour of being awake. 

“What do you mean?” Luther asked. “I thought you haven’t been able to conjure in years.” 

“Well,” Klaus started, “I’m sober now. Hooray!” he did a tired little celebratory hand gesture before resting his head heavily on his hand, looking almost bored to someone who didn’t know him better. “I got clean to talk to someone special. Then—well, you know, I died, met God, then talked to dad.” 

Five set down his cup of coffee and leaned forward. “Wait, wait, wait,” he stopped him; “too much information at once. What do you mean, you died?” 

“Oh, yeah,” Klaus said, not bothering to open his eyes to look at a now-alert Five. “Night club; babysitting Luther. Hit my head.” 

Luther paled a shade further, if that were possible. “You  _ died _ because I brought you to a nightclub?” 

Klaus shrugged. “Not permanently,” he dismissed, though Five didn’t quite think that was something he should be shrugging off. 

“And you talked to dad,” he prodded. Klaus seemed to be listless, sleepy, so he shoved his cup of subpar coffee toward him and waited for him to drink, which he didn’t. Instead, he just blinked blankly at the cup for a moment as if he didn’t know what to do with it before shaking his head a little, wincing, and nodding. 

“Yeah, sorry, I’m feeling—kinda spacey today. Dad wanted me to know he wasn’t murdered.” 

Luther’s jaw dropped. “Okay?” he questioned. “So, what happened?” 

“He wanted us to be all in the same place, and he thought that this was the only way to do it.”

“He thought WHAT was the only way to do it, Klaus?” Five demanded sharply. 

“Oh,” Klaus blinked a few more times, swallowing a few times as if he were nauseated, but he was sober, so that shouldn’t be the case. Perhaps he was just choked up, because the next thing he said was, “he killed himself.” 

Luther breathed a disbelieving huff of air. “There’s no way that’s true,” he accused.

“Why would he kill himself?” Five asked. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Apocalypse stuff?” Klaus guessed, but Five shook his head. 

“Dad wouldn’t have any way of knowing about that,” he dismissed, but at that, Luther stood. 

“Maybe he did,” he surmised. “Dad must have sent me to the moon for a reason, right? Maybe he knew more than he let on.”

“But how?” Five asked. “And WHY? It’s not like he was concerned about protecting the children from the harsh realities of the world.” 

Before anyone else had time to speculate wildly, Five’s attention was drawn to a soft thump on the kitchen table. When he looked down, he saw that Klaus’ hand had slipped and was no longer supporting his head, so he was now nearly face-down on his arm on the table. It was a posture that many of them had assumed as children after long, arduous days of training with no rest and no caffeine, but it was made alarming by the fact that Klaus hadn’t startled awake from the fall the way that they’d always used to do. His head had just hit the table like it was nothing. 

“Klaus?” Luther called, cutting his tirade about his mission short. He reached across the table and shook his shoulder with no luck waking him. When he shot a worried, serious glance to Five, he started to feel a little anxious himself. 

“Did he just pass out?” he asked, and Luther shrugged. Klaus started to rouse a little, his eyes fluttering as he tried to focus them on Five, who was sitting forward and patting at his cheek. 

He let out a little involuntary moan as he came back to consciousness and one hand shot up to massage at his temples.

“Klaus, what’s wrong?” Luther demanded. When he finally made eye contact with Five for the first time that morning, his stomach sank as he noticed the difference in his pupils: one was small and pinprick while the other was blown wide. 

“Hell, Luther; his eyes,” Five cursed. “I think he’s got a concussion.” Luther stood with urgency and stepped around the table to stand next to Klaus. 

“Hey, buddy,” Luther called softly in a voice that sounded like he was trying to soothe a frightened animal. Klaus dragged his gaze up to look at him but not before Luther noticed the back of his head and frowned, gingerly probing the area with his gloved hands. Klaus groaned and tried to fight him off weakly. 

“Stop,” he moaned.

“Does that hurt?” Luther asked, and Klaus nodded. He looked back to Five. “There’s dried blood in his hair.” 

“I’ll get Pogo,” Five decided. “Take him down to the infirmary; we’ll meet you there.” 

Five hovered at the table as Luther tried to manhandle Klaus into standing up, but when he was upright, he was clumsy and unsteady. 

“Come on, Klaus,” he scolded lightly. “You’ve gotta walk unless you want me to carry you.” He should have been able to foresee that Klaus was going to love that, as he immediately wrapped his arms around Luther’s neck and allowed him to pick him up like a princess. Luther rolled his eyes, but nodded for Five to get going and find Pogo. It was oddly reassuring, in a way, and he wasted no time blinking to the other room to find help knowing that his brother would ultimately be okay. 


End file.
